


A Different Perspective

by drayton



Category: Oxford Time Travel Universe - Connie Willis
Genre: Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drayton/pseuds/drayton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>July 2057.  Colin’s in hot water with Mr. Dunworthy.  Again.  Told from Colin's POV.</p><p>Related to the story <em>Facing Dragons</em>, although you don't have to read it first to understand what's happening here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Perspective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashura/gifts).



I’m not an idiot. Except, of course, when I am.

Standing in front of Mr. Dunworthy, I wished I’d had the presence of mind to wash up a bit in 1939. There must have been a loo somewhere in the cathedral. The only thing worse than going on a drop without Mr. Dunworthy’s permission is coming back from the drop covered in blood, even if it’s not my blood.

No, that’s wrong. There’s nothing worse than going on a drop without his permission. So of course I’d done it.

Kivrin calls it “teen brain”. Mr. Dunworthy would likely refer to it as “an age-related inability to properly assess risk and consequence” and then remind me that the rules he’s laid down are meant to shield me from the worst consequences, so I’d be well-advised to obey them. Mr. Dunworthy really doesn’t have many rules, but I manage to break them anyway. Often.

I thought of mentioning Lady Schrapnell. After all, it was her idea to send me on assignment. I opened my mouth to say as much, but Mr. Dunworthy gave me the sort of look that meant I’d be better off not speaking. Actually, I felt I’d be better off on a different continent. Then he told me, “Infirmary. Hall. Rooms. Now,” in his “I’m too angry to shout” voice, so I left as quickly as possible.

In Infirmary, the nurse sealed the worst of my cuts and said I’d suffered no serious damage. I hoped that would pacify Mr. Dunworthy when he found out. I was certain he’d be told, because _everyone_ reports to Mr. Dunworthy about my well-being, including my tutor and housemaster. By the start of my second year at Eton, they’d figured out where I spend my holidays and who’s likely to return their calls promptly. How could I have possibly thought I could go on assignment without Dunworthy finding out? Teen brain.

I went to Hall, and had dinner with a generous side serving of trepidation. When my mother gets flakked, she shouts a bit and it’s over. She’s not a detail person. Unfortunately, Mr. Dunworthy is. Before the punishment, before the telling off, he expects a full explanation. I suppose that might help me if I ever do something objectionable through sheer ignorance, but when I’ve done something because of teen brain, explaining it is a punishment in itself.

I knew Mr. Dunworthy wouldn’t accept “I don’t know” as an answer and move on to the telling-off phase. He’d make me go through the whole day, starting with my first encounter with Lady Schrapnell, and each step of the way he’d ask me what I’d been thinking and what choices I might have made, and then want to know why I hadn’t made more sensible decisions. That sounds fairly tame, but it isn’t. Mr. Dunworthy asks pointed questions that go on and on, and I have to answer them. And the answers tie me up in knots and show me just how stupid I’ve been and how I wasn’t thinking at all, which is why he does it.

After dinner, I went to Mr. Dunworthy's rooms as instructed. I’d thought he might already be there waiting for me, but he wasn’t. I changed out of my bloodstained clothing and sat down on the sofa, staring into space and wondering how much longer it would take him to arrive and how horrible it would be when he did.

After a half-hour of waiting, I realized what must be keeping him: he was calling my mother, to say I was coming back to London.

I spent the next twenty minutes trying to convince myself he wasn’t getting shot of me, but the conclusion seemed inescapable. After we rescued Kivrin, Mr. Dunworthy made it clear I would not be time-traveling again until I was twenty. He hasn’t been even slightly moved by several clever ideas I’ve had since then involving me and time travel. He’s not like my mother, who might tell me not to do something without meaning it. Or perhaps she means it, but she’s usually too preoccupied with something else to pay much notice when I do it, anyway.

Mr. Dunworthy’s not like that, and I should have realized it. His “no” has always meant no, but I’d kept thinking I could get round him, like my mother. So now he was done with me.

He arrived while I was collecting my belongings. One thing I’ve learned from living with my mother is that it’s better to anticipate dismissal. Since you’ll be sent away in any case, you might as well spare yourself the humiliation of being told to go. I hoped my sudden arrival wouldn’t upset her plans, and wondered if I could stay with one of my school friends until Michaelmas.

Mr. Dunworthy stood there, expressionless, watching me for a while. “What are you doing?” he eventually asked, as if it weren’t obvious.

“Packing,” I said. “For London.”

“But we’re not buying your school things for another month.”

I turned to stare at him. If he’d said, “I’m eloping tonight with Lady Schrapnell,” I would not have been more surprised.  “My school things?” I said blankly, feeling as if I’d walked in on the wrong conversation. Every August, I get new uniforms and donate the old ones, but what did that have to do with going to 1939?

“Your mother asked me if I’d take you to get your new uniforms this year,” he reminded me. “I know your trousers are getting a bit short, but I thought it could wait. If not…”

“This isn’t about my trousers,” I said, feeling more confused than ever. “Aren’t you sending me back to London?” I turned back to my packing, so he wouldn’t see my face. He’d noticed I’m outgrowing my trousers. Mum wouldn’t notice if I left off wearing them altogether.

“Why on Earth should I do that?” he asked. “Colin?” I didn’t answer him, but after a minute, he got it. “It’s the worst thing you can imagine, isn’t it? And since you’ve just disobeyed me in the worst way possible, you assumed... Colin, _look_ at me when I’m speaking to you,” he said, turning me around. “I’d like an answer. In fact, I’d like many answers, but we’ll begin with this one.”

“I made a complete bollocks of things,” I admitted. “I know that. So when you took so long in coming, I reckoned you’d had enough and were calling my mother.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he said, sounding bewildered.

“It does for Mum.”

Mr. Dunworthy sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, as if I’d given him headache. “I’m different. _We’re_ different. You’re not here… on approval. Which is a good thing, because you’ve managed to get yourself into an impressively large amount of trouble.”

“So I’m staying?” I asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” he said. “Of course. ‘Banished to London’ isn’t even on the list of possible punishments.”

 _Hang on, there’s a list of punishments?_ We’d never discussed that. I was about to question him when he gently grasped my chin. I hate that, because it makes me feel five years old. He does it sometimes to force me to look him in the eye when he wants to be sure I’m paying attention. Which I hadn’t been.

“Colin, I will _never_ send you away, no matter what you do,” he said firmly.

As I said, I’m not an idiot. Except, of course, when I am. “I guess I didn’t understand that,” I said.

“Hmm. There appear to have been a number of things you failed to comprehend. Let’s begin with Lady Schrapnell. What exactly did she say to you and how did you respond?”

I groaned, and resigned myself to an evening of torment, and many, _many_ necrotic essays.


End file.
